


Stowaway

by resperella



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resperella/pseuds/resperella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While en route to Bespin after escaping the Imperial fleet, Han notices something draining the Falcon’s power supply. As usual, Threepio is not helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceyquill](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=spaceyquill).



> Prompt: 2. After the Millennium Falcon escapes the asteroid space slug, the crew realizes a mynock stowed away with them.

The garbage from the Star Destroyer group vanishes into the distance behind them, but without the familiar blur of starlines into hyperspace mottle, the departure feels incomplete somehow, not like the safety of vanishing off into hyperspace. For a moment, they all sit in the silent cockpit as if they’re waiting for the useless lever to pull itself.

Han breaks the spell first. “It’s gonna be another day or so to get to Cloud City with just the sublights, unless we can cobble together something for the hyperdrive on the way.” He sits back, tugging off his gloves. He looks tired, or maybe it’s just the engine grease still smudged on his hands and face from however many last-ditch efforts to fix the hyperdrive they’ve gone through at this point.

His hands really are dirty, Leia thinks, dark lines in the creases of his knuckles and the shiny pink stripe of a burn along one thumb. She’s shaken out of it when he moves, his mouth tilting up into a smirk as he notices her staring. She looks away with a guilty shock of adrenaline, focusing on the meaningless jumble of buttons in front of her. “Do you think – ”

Han cuts her off, frowning down at his readouts. “Wait a minute…Chewie, what’s wrong with Battery Four?”

Chewie whuffs in confusion, leaning around them both to squint at the display. 

“Yeah, I see it.” He turns to Leia. “Something’s draining the power down there. We don’t get that fixed, we might not even make it to Bespin.” 

She can’t even bother to hide her incredulous look, but Chewie barks something and Han peers back at the display. “Relax; looks like it’s just a busted cable.” He hauls himself out of his chair and beckons her up. “We’re gonna need someone small for this; wake up our resident egghead and we’ll go check it out.” 

**

The battery monitor is clearly glowing yellow where number four is concerned. Han parks Threepio next to it to talk to the computer, and squats down to unscrew one of the floor plates. She opens her mouth to ask if she can help, but before the words even form, he’s holding up one finger at her. 

“Don’t even start with me, Princess.”

“What?”

Maybe he notices the obvious confusion in her voice, because his tone is defensive, almost apologetic. “I like the screws loose. I can feel the ship that way; how else am I going to know when she’s in trouble?”

Leia resists the urge to point out the obvious: the Falcon is always in trouble, and it doesn’t require any mystical communication with creaky screws to notice it. “Well, now I see why I kept hearing horror stories from Alliance techs who tried to give you a hand.” She grabs the detached plate and yanks it off to the corner with a screech of metal on metal. “For someone who claims to be such a mercenary, you’re certainly insistent about refusing free help.” 

Han unscrews another section of floor. “I’m not part of the Alliance,” he growls, nodding at the opposite side of the plate. Leia slides her fingers under it and they awkwardly crab-walk it over to the wall. 

“So you’re harboring a known Rebel traitor for your health?” 

“Well, I couldn’t let your impeccable taste in hairstyles go to waste as an ice cube,” 

It’s just a little too slow, and not quite biting enough. Leia drops her end of the plate, shaking out her hands, and pins him with a steady look: he knows as well as she does that Darth Vader never would have been merciful enough to let her freeze to death on Hoth. 

Han looks away first, reaching up to flip open a panel full of switches. “All right, I’m going to stay up here and push some buttons. You hop down in there and tell me if you see anything change when I do it.”

As soon as Leia looks down at the tiny crack in the floor, it’s immediately obvious why Han wanted her here and not Chewie: there’s barely enough room for her to slide in and shuffle sideways along the length of it. She sits on the edge and gingerly lowers herself down until she drops the remaining half-meter onto solid metal grating underneath her boots. 

The floor of the hold is just level with the top of her head. At her back is a solid wall of metal plating; in front of her is the actual battery, its surface peppered with blinking indicator lights and crisscrossed with wires. “I’m looking for the lights?”

“Nah, more likely the wires’ll start sparking.” Right in front of her face, perfect. “Just yell if you see anything funny,” Han continues: she hears boots on metal, and something clanks above her. “How about that?”

“Nothing.”

More shuffling. “Now?”

“Nothing.” 

She hears a resounding thud above her, as if he’s kicked something, and then his voice low and apologetic, obviously not meant for her. “Sorry, babe. Just hold it together.” 

Leia smiles at the indicators in spite of herself.

Unfortunately, twenty minutes later Han has apparently exhausted all possible options. Leia hasn’t seen anything change, and Threepio hasn’t noticed anything from the computer except the continued warnings about whatever it is that they can’t seem to identify. 

“Dammit.” His face appears above her. “All right, get outta there.” He braces himself above her with his feet on the opposite side of the crack, and reaches down to grab her under the armpits. 

“One, two, three – ” he pulls as she jumps, and she barely makes it all the way out, crashing down on top of him with her arms splayed out beside his head.

“Oof.” They’re so close that his breath puffs across her ear. She can feel his chest move up and down underneath her, the press of his hands against her sides. She needs to get up, but the instructions to move get lost somewhere between her brain and her arms, and she stays rooted in place, feeling the soft push of her breathing against his.

“Are you all right?” Her voice sounds unsteady even to her own ears. 

His mouth twists. “I thought we’d established that I’m not doing this for my goddamn health,” and she’s not sure whether he moves up or she moves down, but before her brain can catch up, she’s kissing him, one hand sliding under his head to protect it from the hard grating. She can feel him smirking into her mouth; she bites his lip in retaliation, and heat curls low in her stomach when his body jerks under her, one of his hands sliding up underneath her jacket to fist in her jumpsuit between her shoulderblades. 

He twists his head to the side, and she can’t stop staring at his mouth. “Leia – ”

“Captain Solo! Oh, Captain Solo!” It’s Threepio. Leia jumps, smashing her elbow painfully on the floor, and then scrambles to her feet: Threepio is flailing blindly around the corridor outside, waving spastically at the empty air while a mynock clings to his face, its wings flapping around his head. She holds out a hand to pull Han up after her; his blaster is out before he’s even standing, but he stops there, looking back and forth from his flapping target to the expensive circuit boards behind it in an agony of indecision. 

“Oh, get it off me! It’s draining my power supplies!” Threepio crashes into something, and Han winces as sparks fly off the walls and one of the glowpanels starts flickering. 

“Threepio, can you turn this way?” she calls, but even as she says it, she realizes it’s a hopeless cause: he’ll never be able to hold still. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of alternative. There’s a pile of spare copper piping in one corner, and she can almost see Han getting the same idea at the exact same time that she does. 

Han grabs one and hefts it, and nods in Threepio’s general direction. “You trip him and I’ll smash?” 

The mynock barely seems to be aware of her; it’s still suckered on to Threepio’s face when Leia dashes up behind the droid, grabs both of his legs together, and throws herself on the backs of his knees. Threepio goes down with a clattering crash and an electronic wail, and Han is there swinging the pipe at the mynock to stun it, and then shooting a single bullet directly into its head. 

The wings go limp, and Han nudges it off Threepio with his foot. “Well, I guess we found the problem with that battery.” 

It takes Threepio nearly ten minutes to calm down and recognize that the creature is no longer after him – his head and torso are covered in slime, and one arm is visibly dented from landing on it.

“Oh, thank the Maker – what horrid creatures; I don’t know what I did to offend it…”

Leia barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Han apparently sees no need to refrain at all. But mid-roll, his face takes on a much more dangerous expression.

“Hey, Goldenrod.”

“I have never been more – yes, Captain Solo?” 

“How’re your servos feeling?

“I – well, rather shocked, I suppose.” Threepio fusses in place for a moment.

“Because mynocks, you know, sometimes when they get…attached to one power source like that, it’s because they’re trying to lay their eggs,” Han continues, wicked delight written all over his face. “And if the eggs hatch on you…”

“Oh, no,” Threepio moans.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. All you have to do is sit out in a hard vacuum for a couple hours; kills ‘em right off,” Han says magnanimously, hopping to his feet. “I’ll set you up in an airlock and you’ll be better than ever.” 

“Oh, thank you!” Leia helps Threepio to his feet, trailing along as he shuffles after Han. “Disgusting creatures – I couldn’t imagine…”

Han motions him into the airlock bay, and Threepio obediently steps inside, patiently waiting while Han tethers him to the side wall. 

“We’ll be back for you in a few hours; just shut down or something if you like.” There’s the whoosh of the doors closing, the second thump of the hard seal, and then the slow hiss as the air escapes, leaving Threepio floating aimlessly at the end of his tether, his eyes rapidly dimming as he takes Han’s advice and powers off.

Han turns around, and if she wasn’t sure before, she definitely is now: he’s up to something. Leia takes a guess. “Mynocks don’t lay eggs, do they?”

Han shakes his head, giving her an incredulous eyebrow raise, but it’s ruined by the grin he can’t quite keep under wraps, and despite her better judgment, she can’t help returning it, just a little. 

He hauls out his comlink. “Hey Chewie? Stowaway mynock. I got rid of it; should be fine now, but we’re going to go through all the circuits again, just to make sure. Should take a couple hours.” He winks at her, and heat flushes across her cheeks.

“What, Threepio? Yeah, he kept interrupting, so I just told him to shut down. Okay. Okay.” He flicks off the comlink, shoving it back into his belt.

“Interrupting?” But she’s pulling him forward into her space, letting herself enjoy the way his body presses her against the bulkhead and the soft brush of his fingertips as he flicks a stray hair off her cheek.

“Mmm,” he murmurs against her lips, “can’t have that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, according to Wookieepedia mynocks officially reproduce asexually by mitosis.


End file.
